Day 25 - The Bridge
by avintagekiss24
Summary: It's Christmas day and Rick needs a miracle. For the Richonne Just Desserts 25 Days of Richonne picture prompt challenge.


**Here is my last submission for the Richonne Just Desserts 25 Days of Richonne picture prompt challenge. It was so fun writing these! Thank you guys for reading and reviewing! I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas (if you celebrate) today! Happy holidays!**

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Rick shoves his hands into his pockets as he moves through the wilderness around his grandfathers' old cottage. It's second nature to him, having weaved and bobbed through these same trees for almost forty years. He always ends up in the same place. Their bridge. Michonne was eight and Rick was twelve when they first met on that bridge. It was summertime. She was standing right in the middle, leaning over the side, just staring into the water; her hair dangling around her face. He stopped and asked what she was doing. She said she'd always wondered what it felt like to be a fish. He laughed. She turned and squinted at him, asking him wouldn't he like to be free like them? The fish? He couldn't answer at first, but, she had piqued his interest, so he stayed with her, all afternoon.

Then, she was fourteen, he was eighteen. It was fall, but still warm enough for her to wear those butt hugging shorts of hers. He was a man; just about to graduate from high school, he and Lori had been steady for two whole years. Michonne was a girl, by _age._ Her mind though? That mind was going on thirty; and so were those long legs. He'd felt weird ogling her. I mean they had been just friends for so long, but she made it so easy. Her carefree attitude, those short summer dresses, her radiant skin and perfect smile. Her laugh. She had blossomed into such a beautiful young lady. They'd lean over that bridge for hours and he'd just listen to her talk. He'd listen to all her dreams, her aspirations, her silly thoughts and crazy theories.

Then, she was twenty-two and he was twenty-six. It was Spring. He and Lori were married, Michonne was leaving for New York City. He hugged her so tight on that bridge, knowing just how bad he was going to miss her. They didn't see each other for a long while, but they kept in touch quite often. Text messages, emails, Christmas cards, and a few late night phone calls. Then, all of a sudden, she was thirty-six and he was forty. He and Lori were divorced and so was she and Mike. The last few years of their friendship had taken a turn. Suddenly, Michonne wasn't calling Rick just to catch up. She _needed_ to hear his voice. Rick wasn't constantly checking his texts just in case he had maybe missed something from her. He _wanted_ her to make him smile. Neither one of their relationships was working and at first, neither one of them knew why. At first, neither one knew _why_ their communication all those years had meant so, so much. Lori wasn't Michonne. Mike wasn't Rick. The two had finally realized that they had loved each other all along; but her life was in New York, his was in Georgia. It wouldn't work, it couldn't.

It's winter now. The snow is thick as he walks slowly down the bridge, hands in his pockets as he makes his way to the middle. He leans over the bridge, resting his elbows on the edge, disturbing the fluffy white flakes. He takes a breath and lowers his head, running his hands through his long hair before leaving his fingers mixed with his tresses. His mind races as he stands there. The time begins to pile up against him, Carl will be looking for him soon.

"What did you ask for this Christmas?"

Her voice is soft and sweet, just how he remembered it. Just like it was when she was eight and he was twelve and she was daydreaming about being a fish. He laughs out of surprise. He can't turn around. She closes the distance and wraps her arms around him, resting her cheek on his back as she stares down the length of their bridge. Michonne's eyes are watery as she sniffles but she closes then after a second, letting a single tear slip down her cheek. He is so warm. She was crazy to think that New York could ever beat this; or him. Why did she wait so long?

He lifts her cold hands to his lips, kissing each and every finger. He covers her hands with one of his and places them over his heart and simply answers, "You."


End file.
